


"Here I am, mother!"

by revolution_but_civilization



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: A lot of crying occurs, Angst, Bittersweet, Canon Era, Combeferre Lives, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, His sisters are just adorable, Just the general idea of them, Kinda?, Let Combeferre See His Mom Again 2k20, Man I just love the concept of Combeferre's sisters, One less death I guess, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24336982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revolution_but_civilization/pseuds/revolution_but_civilization
Summary: Courfeyrac and Enjolras confront Combeferre after his speech on the barricade. Necessary goodbyes follow.---No on-screen death, but mentions of it occurring in future.
Relationships: Combeferre & Courfeyrac & Enjolras (Les Misérables), Combeferre & his family
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	"Here I am, mother!"

**Author's Note:**

> Yes of course I want them all to live but I came up with this idea at like 10 PM last night and almost cried because I thought of Combeferre's speech about women and the quote: "Combeferre, who spoke thus, was not an orphan. He recalled the mothers of other men, and forgot his own. He was about to get himself killed." and I mean I just want Combeferre to see his mom again... T.T

“What of your own women? Your mother?”

Combeferre turned from his examination of the barricade to face his two best friends.

“And your sisters,” Courfeyrac piped up helpfully, his arms full of blue and red fabric.

“Oh, my friends, they do not rely upon me. Esther has her courtship which will soon come to fruition, and my mother and Isabel have their seamstress work.”

Enjolras frowned, reaching his hand out to his friend’s shoulder. “Though we here are to fail, the world will continue on. Someone must be there. The progress, however slight, that we have made here cannot be lost.”

“And we have seen how earnestly your family adores you,” Courfeyrac added. “Your mother has most likely been up all night praying for you.”

“But what of your own families?”

Courfeyrac laughed, and even Enjolras cracked a small smile. “My mother may miss me for a time, but I would be loath to return to my father after such a failed insurrection. Better that they start training little Jacques-Louis in matters of the estate and proper royalist sympathies,” Courfeyrac explained, a positive lilt in his voice. “And we all know the opinions which Enjolras’ family holds regarding his return.”

“You must go,” Enjolras said sternly, before taking the pile of fabric out of Courfeyrac’s arms. “We put aside an extra National Guard uniform at the beginning of the night, and now it must go to good use.”

“But there are others who—”

“Get dressed first, then you may debate this more.” Enjolras pushed him towards the door of the Corinth, which was empty except for the wounded and those tending to them.

Combeferre emerged only a few minutes later, adjusting the shoulder-belt of the uniform. “I still do not believe that this is the right path. We have already sent out five men. Surely they will be able to continue the legacy of this barricade.”

“Ah, but none of them were our guide,” Courfeyrac responded, playfully reaching up and ruffling his friend’s sandy hair. “You are uniquely qualified for this position.” He paused for a second, bowing his head, and his customary verve seemed to leave him. “Please go. You have always been so opposed to violence. It is not right for you to die here with us.”

“Courfeyrac is right. You must live to see a new future in which our goals may be accomplished without this bloodshed,” Enjolras added softly. “We would like to believe, in our final moments, that this was not for naught, and that you survive to carry the cause.”

“Oh, you two…” Combeferre put one arm around each of his friends’ shoulders, pulling them closer and tearing up. “I will go. I will not permit the world to forget you, my friends, and the sacrifices that were made upon this barricade.”

“Thank you,” Courfeyrac murmured, leaning into Combeferre’s arm. On the other side, Enjolras was doing much the same, and the three of them stood together in the midst of the barricade for just one more moment.

“You must go now.” Enjolras pushed softly away from his friend, ducking his head. “It is not yet too late, but it soon will be. You may yet escape by way of Mondetour.”

Combeferre pulled Enjolras back and Courfeyrac closer, pressing their foreheads together. “I will not forget you.”

“You had better not,” Courfeyrac laughed, then wiped away a tear. “Now go.”

“And I will miss you.” Combeferre walked backwards towards the Rue Mondetour, unwilling to take his eyes off his friends yet. “Goodbye…”

“Goodbye… goodbye,” Courfeyrac repeated as his friend walked away, then finally over the small barricade of the Rue Mondetour, then disappeared from sight. “Goodbye…”

“He will do great things.” Enjolras put one arm comfortingly around Courfeyrac’s shoulder. “And we shall see him again.”

\---

Combeferre’s journey to the other side of the city was not particularly dangerous, nor was it impeded by any of the National Guard patrols which passed him, but it was slowed by his own thoughts of those he had left behind. Every street he crossed was accompanied by the brief idea that, perhaps, it was not too late turn around, to return, to help his friends, to die with them. By the time he stood at the threshold of his mother and sisters’ apartment, he had wondered a thousand times over if he had made the right decision, or if he had simply abandoned those he loved as brothers.

“I am h—” he started upon entering the room, but was cut off by a high-pitched screech as a small girl flung herself at his legs.

“Henri! You here!”

“Why, yes, I am,” Combeferre chuckled, reaching down to ruffle his sister’s hair. “Have you been behaved, little one?”

“Oh, Henri,” a tall young woman said, sweeping towards him in a violet dress. “Thank the Lord above.”

“Hello Esther,” he replied, somewhat sheepishly, and accepted her embrace. “I am exceedingly sorry for any distress I may have caused you in my absence.”

“It is in the past; do not concern yourself overmuch. You are here now, and that is all that matters.”

Combeferre hugged her again, then bent down and lifted up his smallest sister, who cheered. “Henri! Henri! Henri!”

“Marie, Marie, Marie,” he cooed, tickling her behind the ear as he made his way towards the woman seated on a chair by the window. She had not budged since he entered the apartment, only sat stock-still and stared.

“Mother, I am home.” He set Marie down on a nearby couch, then wrapped his arms around his mother. “I have returned.”

The woman choked back a cry as she buried her face in her son’s coat. “Oh… my boy… my Henri… my little boy… you have come home.”

“Of course. Of course. I am here and perfectly safe.” Combeferre let his mother sob into his jacket for a minute or so, before lifting up her head and wiping her tears away with his sleeve. “Where is Isabel?”

“She, oh, she’s at her piano tutor’s apartment. She will be so glad to see you.”

“Of course, and I her.”

\---

When Isabel opened the door to her family’s rooms to see her brother standing there, grinning, she first punched him for ever daring to leave in the first place, then burst into happy tears.


End file.
